I open at the close
by tearsofphoenix
Summary: Sequel to my last story, now complete. A different journey through memories, pursuing trust and hope. HGSS
1. Still Open

I open at the close

**I open at the close**

By tearsofphoenix

Standard disclaimer applies – it's all JKR's

The ending of my last fan fiction, _Be sure to act your part convincingly_, was only very slightly open to hope, because more than ever I felt, while writing it, that sadly there wasn't any. But after some time that little light required to be pursued, regaining trust, in thoughts and wishes, if not elsewhere.

Starting from a possible loose end in the official story, and searching for other openings there, without pretence but with gratitude for what these openings might allow, this tale went on, longer than usual.

Many, many thanks to Whitehound, who always helps with friendly editing of the language, sharing ideas, and support during the difficult moments.

The new section breaks are borrowed from a very useful and detailed guide to the know-how of FFnet that Whitehound has written in her homepage, and they are available to everyone at this link:

www. whitehound. co. uk/Fanfic/ffn underscore how-to. htm (remember to remove the spaces after all the dots, and put in a real underscore).

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**1- Still Open**

"_All was well" said the woman, fondly._

"_He did it" answered her husband proudly._

_Their most faithful friends smiled, and serenity was the only thing that shone through the expressions on their nearly living faces._

_Death was too busy collecting her prey on the battlefield to remember that she could retrieve and own again one of her precious presents to the Peverells, and thus it seemed that, thanks to that temporary forgetfulness, the four presences, which had vanished from Harry's sight when he had let the little stone fall, could stay around for a little bit longer._

_Walking through the woods, as if savouring the flavour of the place that had hosted their flourishing youth, they resembled even more their living selves, and at their best. Approaching the location of their most dangerous mischiefs and pranks, though, one of them stopped._

"_We have seen everything, we can't turn our heads and pretend we didn't," he said, adding, even if only as a mere thought addressed to himself: "As I always did "._

_Now his eyes wore a hint of regret, and it was weird, in a sense, to see it on a face that hadn't shown such feeling when he had been asked about the loss of a family that had barely begun to live its life._

"_Not this time, I concede it," replied the most graceful and elegant one, with only a small trace of the carelessness with which he had confronted even his untimely demise._

_The pleased and relieved parents, too, halted and, nodding seriously, agreed. They would try, concealed from the world and powerless as they were, knowing without any doubt how much they owed it to make this attempt._

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"_Harry… dear, it's not yet the time to rest. The closure is still opened. Please…hurry… And don't forget your Cloak!"_

_The young wizard, exhausted after the victory, and finally left alone thanks to Luna's wonderful help, blinked. She had gone forever, hadn't she? When he had approached the end. So, what was happening? Was he dreaming?_

_Then, looking into her green eyes, Harry remembered: the little stone that had fallen from his hand, approaching Voldemort; it was still there, and perhaps, from now on, it was undetectable forever. Could it mean that…_

"_You'll stay?" his heart seemed to beat faster "As I asked? You all will stay forever with me?"_

"_Only a little longer, Harry. Until all will really be well."_

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"_Severus…" whispered three voices, together. "Severus, wait, don't go." His eyes, opened but fixed and empty, showed no sign of response._

_Their chance to stay couldn't last forever, they knew it and went on, louder: "Come on, Snape, you are still your old self, not yet changed like us, as surely you don't want to be…"_

_He remembered dizzily those to whom the voices belonged, and once more felt emotions overwhelming him. He couldn't see their presences, that, besides, were becoming more and more translucent and insubstantial as the time was passing, but he recognized them._

"_And, you know what? Harry is alive, he won, Voldie is dead and gone forever, everything will be different if you'll stay."_

"_You don't want to be stuck with us, yet, do you?"_

"_You can't give up, it isn't fair."_

_He didn't answer, he had neither a voice nor any word left, but even if until this moment he had given himself over, finally, to peace, rest, and silence, the sound of those voices wasn't disturbing as it should have been._

_After a short indefinite time, a fourth, sweeter and pleading tone had joined the chorus._

_The strange cadence, that alternated from murmurs of fondness to huffs of aggravation, went on, and he felt that perhaps he hadn't been the only one who had for a long time been burdened by chagrin and regret. And yet he didn't answer, he couldn't and wouldn't, even if a sort of pleasure warmed his cold body, because in a sense this was an answer, a closure, belated though it was._

_Yes, it wasn't fair; it had never been fair. It was strange to feel, though, that the sense of unfairness, that had ruled all his existence until this moment, stung less, as if lowered by the weakness that was overwhelming him or, maybe, as if gone among the afterglows of his life._

_The presences couldn't last long, they must go back where they came from, and from now on they would, and could, only watch what would follow, as they had ever done, with hope, from their heavenly places. Severus sensed their departure, and instantly, approaching, another voice, louder and alive._

_He began to place confidence in the possibility that, perhaps, the next thing he endured would not be his own passing. _

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Lying on a plain, immaculate sheet, immobile and pale, Severus Snape was, a week after the fateful night of the last battle, still unconscious, and that little light that Pomfrey's wand had spotted around his throat every time she had checked him seemed to the few visitors to be the only sign of a remaining breath of life.

To that young witch who was standing in front of him this was the most challenging and inexplicable situation among a series of events which otherwise were to her, on the contrary, very well known and immediate, as if printed in a book read and re-read a hundred times.

It had all started just a few pages before the supposed end… 

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Remembering wasn't difficult, _per se_, but if the reminiscence was sparked by a particular moment in the present, or by a gesture, that very ease of recollection began to assume troubling features, for it freely recalled sensations which were not easy at all and that struck the mind more often than one could wish, with every remembrance that came: places, objects, similar situations, relatives… Hermione Granger had experienced this when looking at George, or at the living, demanding reminder of the Lupins, that was so touching and beautiful… while every elf that she met suggested the moving remembrance of Dobby, the little, big, brave hero… But in such memories the living forms of the deceased were no longer present: there were only dazed visions, that faded more and more as the time went by.

Well, in the wizarding world there were the pictures and the paintings that, by showing people moving, and speaking, could give back the essence of those missed, of something more than a fleeting vision, but, actually, to the onlookers they were often more of a poignant reminder than a relief from grief. When Harry told them about Snape's memories, and led them to speak with Dumbledore's portrait, for example, the appearance of the old wizard, moved and smiling, had resembled his living self, but his words, and the feeling of closure, of finality, hanging in the air, had renewed their awareness of their great loss.

Then Harry had explained to his old mentor what he wanted to do with the Hallows, and everything seemed rightly settled. Only Ronald, close to Hermione, had shown a shadow of desire for the powerful stick and she, who had already begun to feel a sense of unease when her boyfriend had commented on Peeves' song, felt a bit uncomfortable.

That little embarrassing interlude, too, was easy to relive: "_So now let's have fun"_ might really have been the best response the Poltergeist could come up with to celebrate the victory, but she couldn't help but compare the disillusionment and sarcasm of Ron's words – "_Really gives a feeling for the scope and tragedy of the thing, doesn't it?_" - to the same sentiments she had heard for six years from another man, the master of bitterness, the same man who hadn't left her thoughts for hours, and the analogy hadn't been reassuring.

That uneasy feeling, then, had grown higher while the three of them were putting the Elder Wand back in its place, and at that point she had realized with an amazing clarity what wasn't right.

"What has happened to Professor Snape?" she had asked. "His portrait wasn't on the walls of the Headmaster's office, and I haven't seen his body among those of the heroes in the Great Hall. He can't be still rotting in the Shrieking Shack, surely?" she had ended with a very alarmed tone.

Harry had almost grinned.

"It's a secret…. No, really! Trust me. I promise. You're right to worry, Hermione, but please don't ask more, don't do anything else."

She would have differed, but her words were cut off by Ron's voice, complaining as if Harry's tale about the truth discovered in the Pensieve hadn't been told: "I don't understand. There are a lot of them, people that we liked, still on the ground. Why should Snape be different? Why bother?"

"They had a chance at happiness, every one of them had it. He is the only one that never had it, ever," answered the Boy, not less tired than his friend but with the colour of a passion in his voice, that reminded the other two of his most determined moments.

"And it was about time to fix things" slipped out of him, then, in a relieved sort of way which somehow lessened Hermione's wish for further queries. After that he kept silent, and even if he had told his best friends everything that mattered about the many discoveries of that night, it had been impossible to make him more talkative on the subject.

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Lost in her reverie, Hermione remembered how the following morning, when they were wandering through the Castle, the place that at least two among them had missed so much during their flight, at some point they had reached the Hospital Wing. There, before entering, Harry had added a bit of explanation, as if he could do so, now that the night had passed.

He revealed that, as soon as victory was assured, hours even before calling them to their last common task in the Headmaster's office, he, hidden from everyone else under his Invisibility Cloak, had alerted Madam Pomfrey to go to the Shack.

What the mediwitch had done, and how she had succeeded in bringing the dying wizard - actually not yet dead - to Hogwarts, had to remain a mystery. Ron and Hermione had had to accept, without further questions, the fact that Poppy had found a man still living, not a corpse as they had believed when they left him. Harry had been very firm about this secrecy, as if to break it could mean the end of a miracle.

But, of course, the young witch couldn't leave all this alone. After some initial inconclusive attempts, Madam Pomfrey had given up all pretence of sending the persistent Miss Granger away, and accepted her presence: after all there wasn't much that could be done for Severus, other than wait and see, and the old matron had other patients to assist.

A few people knew that Harry had been through an unbelievable experience, suspended between life and death. He had called it "King's Cross" and it had confirmed the popular belief about the Boy's uniqueness in a world of exceptionalities. What mattered to Hermione, who had begun to come back daily to the Hospital Wing, was the fact that such a singular anomaly was, actually, the widest of exceptions and therefore it wasn't of help in classifying or better understanding Severus Snape's condition.

And thus she went on going daily to visit him, out of curiosity, because - after seven years during which every reference to the mystery of death had been accompanied by the knowledge that a world of magic could fix many things but not that - she simply couldn't believe in what her eyes saw that morning. This had remained the case until after the first week, during which nothing had happened, when she had managed to change a bit of Harry's resolution, convincing her friend that her wish was well-intentioned, and he had finally led her, too, to see Snape's memories in the Pensieve. Then:

"Thank you, Harry. He is still so… so blank, and perhaps there is something more to be done for him, I can't stand the waiting and doing nothing. These scenes of his life will help me to understand, to guess… I hope." These were the words with which she made her farewell to reality before the journey into remembrance.

When she resurfaced, later, curiosity and the thirst for knowledge was no longer the main emotion she felt.

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To see again the living man, acting, speaking, walking with his usual elegance, fighting and even crying, after the recent days spent looking at his motionless and limp body, had been a shocking experience, but not the most shocking one. The glimpses of his youth, so unexpected and so poignantly retained by the man throughout his life, had been the most touching and disconcerting thing, and now it was clear to her that she had to reassess what she had thought she had known about Professor Snape, integrating all the events he had lived through and the notions she had acquired about him into a picture which was more confused than cleared by this increased awareness of his whole existence.

What she knew for sure, however, was that she didn't need to make the same revision towards the young boy seen in the first sequences. He was a boy that she would have liked to have had the possibility to meet, shabby, resentful and unpleasant though he was. She would have made a difference to him, like nobody had ever done. She would have been his friend, the never ever deserting one.

To keep a caring eye on him, waiting to see what had lasted of the proud teenage Slytherin student after all those events and after all those years, was, since that moment, her way to seek the real closure she still waited for. She realised now that when Harry had put his end to the matter of the Deathly Hallows the closure had only just begun.

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Hermione's wonderings and reminiscences halted.

Ordinarily she would have begun to speak quietly to him, now, as she had done since the first day of her vigil, attempting, as in the Muggle world, to provide constant stimulation to which he might react, if it reached his senses. And for the same reason she was keeping Snape's left hand between hers, feeling that, wherever his mind was in his present condition, it would be good for him to have the sensation of a human contact; his long and slender fingers were lying still and only slightly warmed by the feeble beat of life that kept him alive.

But today she didn't begin to speak, because something new was happening: she stared at him, wishing to be sure of what could have been only a joke by her imagination, an illusion created by her hopes. And yet she felt it again and saw it, the slight tremble of his thumb, as if he wanted to reciprocate her grip, while the light that had been their hope until then seemed to move, as if brightening.

Luckily Madam Pomfrey was only a short distance away, and Hermione was able to call her without leaving her place. Both continued to watch him, searching for other signs of changes, or sudden improvements.

Both called him, with different names, many times:

"Severus..."

"Professor, Sir, please..."

He showed no further signs of interaction, though.

Madam Pomfrey tried to reassure the younger witch:

"He will be fine, we arrived just in time, then. It's just that it seems it will take longer than we expected. But he will. And this first hint is very encouraging, really!"

Hermione nodded, unable to say more: she couldn't know that, right at that moment, it had felt good to him, to hear again the sound of voices, speaking aloud.

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_A/N: During the period before Harry's victory, it seems impossible that anyone could have found the time to see to Snape's body, and thus my start delays the beginning of an attempt to mend our hero until after Voldemort's death, even though that may seem like a stretch; but I've chosen to believe that the words with which JKR describes his last moments weren't definitive, and that that atonement towards the cold desertion that he suffered until the end could be possible. Thanks to this licence, I hope that all the other things that will follow will make sense._


	2. Returned to the world

2 – Returned to the world

**I open at the close**

By tearsofphoenix

Standard disclaimer applies – it's all JKR's

Many, many thanks to Whitehound, who always helps with friendly editing of the language, sharing ideas, and support during the difficult moments.

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**2 – Returned to the world**

What should have been the main purpose, now that it was all over, for three young people who had spent so many months hiding in the woods, fighting for their survival, without any of the comforts that they had been accustomed to? Surely not this, not this present series of saddening, tiring repairs that they were still working through.

"And they lived happily ever after…" Growing up meant knowing that behind the end of an adventure, beneath the surface appearance, there was more than a simple sentence like that, and he knew it. But despite all this abstract reasoning, that seemed so wise, Ronald Weasley couldn't help but feel that at the end of the day he had been ripped off. That's why, when he eventually met Hermione in the Great Hall, so excited and eager to communicate about the news from the Hospital Wing, he couldn't help but sneer maliciously; and even if he knew how his reaction would have wounded her spirit, he was himself so in need of attention that he didn't give a damn about that.

Hermione remembered the way another girl hadn't been able to forgive a friend for a moment of frustration, and tried to understand without reacting. She addressed herself to Harry and told him of the first little response from Snape's body, and then, without rows, nor further comments, she began to eat, eager to return again to her precious place.

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He was partially reclining, almost sitting with his back propped up with pillows, while Poppy Pomfrey, beaming excitedly, was moving from the left side to the right side of the bed, brandishing her wand to cast revealing spells.

"Stop this fussing, Madam!" Snape managed to croak, with an acceptable tone of voice, considering how much time it had not been used. The mediwitch halted for a moment, only to pour some water in a glass, and to put it to his lips.

He swallowed, grateful, and tried again, more effectively: "You'll have to take care of a bad headache, if you will not sit this instant" he intimated, growling. This time she complied and, when she did what he had requested, he couldn't stop himself asking: "It's over?"

"Yes, Severus, it is. And we won" she said, glowing.

So the voices weren't lying.

"When can I leave this place?"

"And what exactly do you want to leave?" asked a third voice, unexpected. "The bed? The school? The castle?" Minerva's smiling appearance had spared Poppy the necessity of answering, and the mediwitch, heading off, discreetly allowed them the possibility of a clarifying encounter.

"Welcome back, Severus" she began. Then, without allowing herself the luxury of delay: "I will not ask your forgiveness for what I said, and did, during our last meeting, Headmaster Snape. I, however, bow before your acting skills. You fooled me, and everyone, and I couldn't have done differently," she ended, while a slight flush of shame was colouring her cheeks. "But from the heart I say that I'm sorry, though, for everything you had to endure, and it is wonderful to see you among us again."

He had waited until the end of her speech before replying, and he did so, after a few awkward moments, watching her sadly: "There is nothing to forgive, Minerva, except that yours was the last of a long series of meetings where what I met was the distrust which confirmed that I had always been living a lie, always acting. Not that knowing it made it less painful, you understand."

The witch was deeply touched by this admission, made by a man who had always concealed his true emotions, but, showing the helpful sensibility that she had many times used to face the most difficult moments in her life, she continued, sighing: "In answer to your previous question, Severus, you can leave whenever you want, once Poppy has given her permission. Harry's words during his last duel with You Know… with Voldemort, have been heard by everyone and aired all over our world through the _Prophet_. You are a hero, and a very romantic one, I must say," she ended, a hint of impishness in her voice.

Seeing his expression, sarcastic at this last assurance and dubious about whether to believe her at all, she left him no time to reply before delivering her last blow: "You are free, Severus, as you haven't been in almost a lifetime. But I'd like to know that you'll decide to stay. This is your home, if you want, as it always will be".

Then, without waiting for an answer, because she was sure that he wasn't yet ready to give one, she gave him a light touch in farewell, and left Poppy to resume her duties.

After another quarter of an hour, spent listening to the matron enumerating all the details of his therapy, Snape was quite assured about his recovery and safety, if not of his satisfaction. He needed to know more than the little he had been told by those two old women, and the moment at which he could be left alone couldn't arrive soon enough, at this point.

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The news about Snape's awakening hadn't yet spread around, but Hermione directed herself towards the infirmary hurriedly, wishing to see as soon as she could if, in her absence, the earlier moments of hope had been followed by further ones.

When she halted, stunned, then, it was immediately noticed and, for a few instants, the whole scene was frozen. Then, without thinking, unable to restrain herself, she approached.

"Professor!"

- and her voice was so full of wonder, joy, and hope that he couldn't answer with the words which had come to his mouth at the unexpected sight of this particular former student of his. He was speechless, and she was becoming shy, now, while his expectant and challenging expression wasn't helping, being so different from that dismissive and forbidding one to which she was accustomed.

But she had to say her praise of him, before flying from the room and before he regained his usual self completely: "You have been so brave, Professor! You have sacrificed everything for this victory, and we are so happy to see that you are still with us! You deserve a long life, and every good on earth" she blurted out, blushing.

Again, he didn't succeed in beating back her words.

Severus didn't know what was happening. But her voice, more than any other he had heard, seemed to have rooted in his mind, because he felt warmed again, and almost well. The faint reminiscent hint of a smile was at first his only answer, and it remained so because suddenly Madam Pomfrey resumed her role, breaking the tension and cutting off further speech by continuing to explain, in the presence of the younger witch as well as her patient, the diagnosis and the healing she had done since his awakening.

"There," she concluded, "in a couple of days you will be able to leave your bed, I think. I am very proud of you, Severus. As for you, Miss Granger: it is time for a true rest, so I don't want to see you until tomorrow!" she added, with the solicitude of one who knew that someone _had_ to play the ruling role, it having been temporarily abandoned by the most skilled people ever known for the job.

"I'll be back tomorrow" whispered the girl, already half-turned on her heel, and in a moment she was gone.

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He still wasn't sure as to his own state of consciousness. He had confused memories of the recent past, and not one of them made sense.

There was his meeting with the Dark lord, and then the agonizing ache of the snake's bite. He also remembered having been able to give the Boy the knowledge he needed, and the relief that he had felt looking at him.

Afterwards everything was foggy: he had been blind to the world, perceiving only the sound of those clamant voices and perhaps that dizziness had been an effect of all the missing memories, the long-ago and the most recent ones.

Severus Snape didn't like that sensation; he knew that it wasn't usual for him to be a stranger to himself, nor to his surroundings. Of this, at least, he was certain: he had always been very careful to gain knowledge and control, never allowing himself the freedom of a reckless life.

All right, this wariness of his hadn't helped to prevent the events of his most dangerous last meeting, but that didn't count, since it had been his decision to endure that last sacrifice which had made the difference.

And, thus, he was again at the start of his wonderings: how had it been possible to stay alive, after that, and what was left of him, now; what had been lost and what would be achieved?

Like an answer to his questions, or at least like a diversion from his wonderings, right that moment the Granger girl showed herself at the foot of the bed, an unconcealed trepidation brightening her eyes. He hadn't heard her approach, damn, and it was another sign of the weakness of his perception, which unnerved and flustered him.

"Good morning, Professor" she began tentatively, addressing him like that because he would always be her professor, his awful year as Headmaster being something that she hadn't shared and that, perhaps, he didn't wish to remember.

"Have you gained the job of mediwitch's assistant, as a reward for your war efforts, Miss Granger?" he managed to answer, avoiding the obvious opening to correct or question her as to his current status, which was no longer that of a teacher but what else it was, he himself didn't know – reformed Death Eater? sacked Headmaster? - and trying to reject the mollifying feeling that her voice evoked in him.

Flinching slightly she went on, brushing off his taunt: "I wished to see if everything was going all right, Sir. And to ask you if you would like to see other people who wish to give you their thanks. But," she concluded hurriedly, "I'm very happy to see that you have regained your health, and if you don't like the idea I'll tell them that they should ask later". She lifted her hand, as if to touch him slightly in saying her goodbyes, then let it fall, absently, and began to leave.

The room was silent, Poppy was attending to her duties and, unfortunately, he hadn't been able to elicit from her more than the most basic news, about his rescue and about the end of the war. Perhaps, from the girl who knew all, he could obtain more.

And so he called: "Wait."

She stopped.

"Please."

She turned.

"I'd like to know if you could manage a detailed story of the recent events, Miss Granger," he went on. "Nobody here seems able to do it properly."

Acknowledging the opening, and sitting again in the chair where she had sit all those previous days, she began.

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"We had to run, Professor" she almost cried, after her tale had reached the moment of Snape's apparent demise. "Voldemort's dare began immediately after we collected your memories… and you were so still, and…" she couldn't continue. He had asked for a precise account, but to think again on those actions was unbearable, and she didn't know how to explain the things that only Harry, alone, had done or witnessed, and above all, she didn't want him to compare the difference in conduct between his delayed rescue and the timely one of Arthur Weasley, two years ago.

"The three of you are barely of age, Miss Granger, don't burden yourself with blame for every fault" he commented, amazing himself with the almost detached way in which he was hearing her words.

"Yes, well, perhaps" she babbled, and resumed the tale of the last battle and of the deeds of Neville, of Molly Weasley - even of Trelawney, whose actions brought a very needed light moment to the account.

The final duel, and the way his role had been revealed out loud during the fatal confrontation, when she reached that deadly part of her report, left Severus feeling exposed and his features darkened. Hermione stopped. And breathed. Then: "Sir, if you would allow me to call in Harry to continue… he wants so much to speak with you, and he is so sorry that he couldn't do it earlier!"

The satisfaction of knowing that he had been essential to the victory, and that he had been able to do what he had to do until the very end were making him less troubled than he would have expected to be, after all that. Or, maybe, the trick had been done by the mere knowledge that the evil master of his previous life had finally gone forever.

Snape was beginning to feel tired, though, and although his wish to know was still great, he couldn't bear more at present, and even less could he face the thought of a pacifying conversation with Potter, right now. "I think that that's enough, as a start. Later. Tomorrow, perhaps."

She seemed relieved by his answer, and to be free to leave, so, after a nod of agreement, she stood up, promising to come back again with her friend.

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"So, you see, Harry, he is different. He is almost… kind" Hermione affirmed, after she had made her report to her friends concerning her visit to Snape.

"Kind? The greasy git? Blimey! Perhaps Snape's gone mental during all that sleeping."

"Ron! Stop that! How can you…"

Hermione was amazed: if the first sentence had obviously been said by Ron, the second had been… Harry's?

And she wasn't the only one startled: the three of them looked at each other and suddenly begun to laugh, as they hadn't in a long time, while their eyes were becoming almost teary. Snape was right. They were all still so young… as he too had been, once, she thought again, sobering.

"Tomorrow I'll go home," affirmed Ron when they were again able to speak seriously. "Family needs to stay together and far from here, mum said." After the burial of wizards and witches dead in the fighting, there wasn't really any reason to stay any more in a place which reminded the mourners of so much. And Hogwarts had to be repaired, even rebuilt in some places.

Harry, who had spent the recent days with Ginny, always, as if their present time together couldn't ever compensate for all that had been missed in the past, announced that he would be joining Ron at the Burrow after a couple of days. Hermione, thoughtful, didn't communicate her intentions, until Ronald asked: "Have you decided when you're going to bring your parents back home?"

She had to admit that no, she hadn't, and, after some mumblings about the necessity of knowing that it was safe, that no more Death Eaters were at large, she waved her goodnights, knowing that sleep, to her, would not come as easily as her words of leave-taking suggested.

To restore memories wasn't the same as erasing them, she feared.

**A/N **

_For the title of this chapter I've chosen JKR' words which referred to the power of the Resurrection Stone. I'm using them with a different meaning, though, because Snape's coming back here is real, and it isn't due only to the second of the gifts of Death._


	3. Enough trouble for a lifetime

**3- Enough trouble for a lifetime**

_As ever the greatest thank you to Whitehound, without her help I couldn't have gone on with the writing._

_For the title of this chapter I've borrowed a sentence from the end of chapt.36 of DH, even if here it is meant for another wizard._

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Awakened for the second day in the anonymous bed of the infirmary, Snape tried again to recollect his thoughts.

He had been able to stay in a relative peace, until now. Attending wounded people, reassuring worried parents, those had been the excuses Pomfrey had made for the absence of his former colleagues from among his visitors, and also for herself, when she went to check his state after some time spent far from him. But between her and Miss Granger he had been under constant surveillance and this fact surely explained another absence – that of the Aurors - from the foot of his bed, too.

The Granger girl had given him an impassioned tale, full of heroics and praises, that confirmed Minerva's earlier reassurance, but he knew better than to trust that the same kind of judgement would be made by the Minister and his cohorts.

All this uncertainty about his future, though, was nothing compared to the one he felt about his past.

He knew he had given his memories offhandedly, anticipating his last breaths, and as such he didn't regret the action. He also knew which moments he had given: some of them had been precious to him for decades, and to feel that only a little token now remained of them wasn't a pleasant sensation.

Again, someone appeared as a sort of answer.

"Potter," he greeted his visitor.

The Boy approached.

"Sir" he began, showing through that little word all the due respect he had never bothered to show in the past. Then, as if not believing that this opportunity to explain could last, he went on: "I owe you an apology, sir. I called you coward. I didn't know… I'm sorry. You are _probably the bravest man I've ever known._"

For the second time in the space of a few hours, Snape found himself speechless.

"And I'm so glad to have been able to tell you this in person" beamed the Boy, whose face, like his body, had over time grown to be more physically alike to, and yet, finally, less loathed than, that of Snape's old enemy of a lifetime ago.

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Professor Flitwick had listened with the greatest attention to Hermione's pleas for advice and help. And this had been his answer: "Every charm related to our memory is very dangerous, like every incantation that affects the core of our lives. If a quick Obliviate, cast to make someone forget just a brief moment, can simply leave him a bit dazed for a short time, the erasing of a longer period could in the aftermath result in the person rejecting those memories which were returned to them, or having a sense of detachment from self."

The young witch shivered, but tried to maintain the self confidence she had felt a year ago, when the decision to change her parents' life had seemed so clever.

"I've read everything on the subject, I'm sure that the reverse charm will work." She shuddered again. "I'm almost sure of it. I'm only asking if there will be anything else to be expected when I go to rescue them, Professor."

"Again, Miss Granger," the slight wizard replied, kindly, "the matter is not completely explored. Wizards use these charms on Muggles with a very good level of safety, and thus you are probably right trusting the best for your parents. But you asked to me to be sincere, and I had to warn you about the fact that it is wisest to be very careful while playing with memories.

"When we put a memory in a flask, and then into a Pensieve, we know where it is, but is not known if or where the remembrances go when an Obliviate is put on someone. There is always the risk we might lose them forever…"

Hermione gulped, and wasn't able anymore to conceal the tears in her eyes.

"I'm not saying that this is the case, of course" he added, softening. "Now, tell me everything that happened when you did it, and what they were doing the last time you saw them…"

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"I know that you must do this, Hermione. And I would help, like I did when you put the charm on them, if it weren't for my family" Ron was saying, awkwardly.

"You don't have to worry about leaving, Ron," she answered sincerely. "For a long time I longed for us to get together. But, if earlier things were progressing too slowly, now everything is moving too fast, and I don't yet feel as if we've reached our happy ending. This isn't it."

His eyes were sad, but not angered as they had been so many times before. "You will always be my best friend, nothing and nobody can detract from that. Go, fetch your parents and let us know if it's all right," he said.

"You know? I could love you, you silly" she whispered, hugging him fondly, wishing that all of them could jump, without further difficult steps, into the promised happy future.

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"You saw her?" had been the whispered question at the end of the Boy's tale, and Snape couldn't pretend to not be aware of the identity of "her".

"I only heard her voice" he answered, quietly.

It had been… instructive to hear the tale of the events from Harry Potter's point of view, and Severus was no longer worried by his lack of irritation while listening to his voice: he was beginning to understand the possible reasons for his sudden acceptance of such a companionship. What the Boy had told him about Lily's timely alert, and about the Hallows and the Horcruxes, made sense alongside his last recollections and now, if only Snape could have back the complete memory of all he had known and lived, surely even the last missing pieces of the puzzle would fall into place.

"I appreciate your gratitude, Potter, however belated" he went on, feeling that whatever his mood might be, it wasn't necessary to make everyone aware of it. "And I think that, it having been accepted, you can leave now."

Harry, having achieved his main objective, didn't need to be told twice. He, too, felt uncomfortable about asking any more during this present meeting.

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"May I come in?" he enquired politely before entering his former office, where there was no more need of a password. Everything had to be reset anyway, and everyone was being kept busy with higher priorities than fixing the vacant residence of a vacant position.

"Severus" acknowledged Minerva McGonagall, standing up from the Headmaster's chair which, again, she had had to occupy while the post was vacant. "Of course".

"Please, don't trouble yourself… sit" he continued. "My purpose here is only to retrieve the one thing in this room which is truly mine."

She opened her mouth as if to differ, then thought better of it and raised an eyebrow, as if awaiting further details. He, however, wasn't keen to say much more than that, and headed towards the cabinet where the Pensieve, and all the flasks collected by Dumbledore in a lifetime, were kept.

"Albus used that to excess, you know," Minerva began.

Snape went on searching.

"He found it necessary to lighten the burden of his huge knowledge by putting some of it in that basin" she went on, undeterred by his silence, "and I've always wondered about his need to see events with the detached point of view of a bystander. Of course it was useful to him as commander in chief of us all, but I'm almost sure that it wasn't a very safe thing for his character."

"Feel free to go on as if I were elsewhere" was the response she got, even if not coming from Snape.

"Bystander is a good definition for a portrait, I think" Severus, still bent on his search, commented then. He had been averse to staying in that place any longer than was strictly necessary, and he wasn't ready to face his old mentor, who luckily had been sleeping in his frame when Severus had entered the office, but to make that remark had been too tempting.

Contented by the reaction that she had succeeded in eliciting from her colleague (as she wanted to be able to think of him once more), Minerva intimidated the portrait of Albus Dumbledore into silence with a glare, then approached Severus, and lifted a hand to touch his shoulder.

"Harry left your memories in the basin, you can stop searching among the flasks. And you can borrow it for a bit, if you wish."

Then, lowering her voice, but not her head:

"Where are you going, Severus?" asked the witch, guessing how he needed to be assured about at least some little things. "Your quarters are still yours. Here, if you want them, until the new school administration has been chosen, or wherever else you want to stay, if you prefer it: the Castle is ruined only in some places, and you know that it always has spare rooms."

"To host guests?" he retorted, almost sourly.

When he had left the infirmary Poppy had had to give him a fresh set of robes, retrieved from the closet still in his Headmaster's rooms, so really this conversation seemed preposterous, to her. But she was conscious of the whole situation, of the necessity of conceding something more to him.

He was feeling that his forgiving mood of recent days was lessening, though, and so continued: "Since you are asking, I'd like to do what I've come here for, then I'll decide. And I won't carry the Pensieve anywhere out of this room, if I might be granted some privacy."

"Of course" she answered, blushing slightly. "Stay, then, and take your time."

She went out of the room, down on the circular staircase that had remained available since the night when Harry had gone to give a closure to his story, and only her age and a self confidence of old date allowed her mind to ignore the word, not spoken but echoing in her ears as if heard: "Dismissed".

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Heading towards Gryffindor Tower, Minerva realized weirdly that the greatest among her feelings was that of contentment. Severus really was alive, and everything about their exchange showed it. By granting him his privacy she had allowed herself the privilege of giving him something and she had had the last word, while all the unspoken words that had, at first, weighed heavily on her heart, weren't worth worrying about.

She reached her office quietly. Hermione was waiting for her, outside the door.

"Miss Granger" she greeted her.

The girl followed her Head of House and entered. Then, after having accepted a seat in one of the armchairs near the decorative fireplace, she spoke.

"I'm leaving, Professor. I have to go home now that I've been told it's safe."

"I'm glad to see you came to bid your goodbyes, my dear, but you are free to go; all the school rules have been suspended, as you very well know."

"Yes, of course, but… before leaving… what I really wish to ask is… what will happen with our NEWTs?" The insecurity in her voice spoke volumes about her nostalgia for the schooldays she had missed. McGonagall could have smiled about these worries, such little things compared to everything else they had all been through lately, if she didn't know the girl and if she hadn't noticed long ago how much it meant to her to belong to their world.

"Last year was a very peculiar one, at this school, and surely measures will be taken to ensure that every young wizard and witch has a full opportunity to achieve all that is needful in their education. You will be owled as soon as everything has returned to normality, I'm sure. But even if normality takes too long, you know that you will always be welcome, here, whenever you may decide to come back to Hogwarts."

Reassured by that promise, Hermione accepted a cup of tea, with a trembling smile, trying to prepare herself for the forthcoming meeting with her parents.

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The silver fluid had lifted from the wand to his temple, and he could leave. He had no wish to prolong his stay, and the effect on him of the renewed possession of his whole past wasn't something to be considered in this place.

Severus Snape went out from the cabinet, out of the room, and of the castle, hoping that the open, fresh air would help him to breath easier.

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_Walking through the woods, the place that had hosted his youth, he relived all his past, as if to be in one of the locations he had seen through his regained memories might return him to that time, again. _

_He didn't go far enough to reach the sites of his greatest suffering, though, and not only because he didn't want to endure the sight of them anymore. He was aware of something different, inside himself, and it was new, and fresh, despite the oldness of the events which were now fully remembered, and he wished to go on savouring its flavour. He didn't notice how much, by doing so, he resembled his youngest and eager self, as he had been at his best, a lifetime ago._

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_A/N: _Thanks to those who are going on reading this tale. And, of course, reviews are most welcome!


	4. At the close

4 – At the Close

**4 – At the Close**

_This story has, as ever, gone out in the open only thanks to the wonderful help of Whitehound, who has made it possible that it could be read without misunderstandings by giving a precious help, and not only with the language._

_Many thanks to her, and also to the faithful friends that have followed and encouraged it step by step._

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With the feeling that, finally, life was beginning more to resemble the happy endings of ancient tales, Hermione had succeeded in bringing back her parents, and they had been very understanding, as they had always been since her first steps into magic. They had been relieved to know that the perils of the war had ended, and even if during her account of the events they had shivered and cried many times, at the end, hearing of the many deaths among wizards and witches but also among persons like them - Muggles, they said - they had had to admit that their time out of England had been no more than another of the good ideas of their bright, clever daughter.

After the required formalities and travelling the family, reunited, was again settled in their old house, as if the preceding period had never occurred.

The young witch, in accordance with that success, should have been happy and, finally, relaxed. She knew that every hour spent with her parents since their coming back was overly due, and her conscience told her that everything was well.

But it wasn't, and the letters from Ginny, that told her good news from Harry and Ronald, too, evoked the world to which she belonged, and to which she needed to return. Her mother, knowing the symptoms of old, prepared her clothes, gifted her daughter with a new suitcase – "You can't possibly _always_ go on using that bag" – and prepared herself and her husband for a new farewell.

Then, one day, during breakfast, an owl deposited a parchment on their table. Hermione, more excited than they had seen her in ages, was accompanied by her greatly-relieved parents to an Apparition point not too far from their town, and there they kissed her goodbye.

At the count of three she vanished, and after an instant found herself at the gates of Hogwarts.

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Almost two months had passed since his full recovery, and Severus Snape had to admit that his days weren't so bad as he had anticipated after his revival. It being summer, the school was closed, and even if Minerva was still pressing him about his future position there, which she tended to take for granted, he felt that time would help him to reach a decision, and, after all, he hadn't to face either students or colleagues on a daily basis at present.

The strange feeling of forgiveness, the less heavy burden of bitterness and hurt that he had sensed in the first days after his awakening, hadn't vanished after his regaining of the memories from the Pensieve. He had felt whole again, and his self-consciousness had been vital to his true acceptance of a second chance at existence, but all the grudges, the hopeless devotion and the bitterness sedimented one year after the other, cultivated by the events which he had endured and suffered, no longer mattered so greatly.

Perhaps this new sensation had been acquired due to the temporary absence of those memories, even if it hadn't lasted for a long time. Or perhaps what had made the difference was seeing that, however belatedly, some true care had been showed to him by a few people.

He didn't know the reasons, and neither perhaps was he too much absorbed by those thoughts, but it felt almost good, to him, to be again the owner of his old quarters in the dungeons, where he could be left alone as he wished until he would have decided how to go on living. For the first time in his life he hadn't a purpose, a task to accomplish, and it was almost intoxicating to live, one day after the other, with the sole intention of enjoying it through activities decided moment by moment.

The castle, that in recent months had been a cage to him, was now a safe place, the nearest thing to home, perhaps, that he had ever had. This whole situation was so acceptable that it might be worth the sacrifice of some precious hours of peace that evening to assist - as Minerva had almost ordered him to - in the forthcoming ceremony of the Special Graduation.

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Like their first night at Hogwarts, where the solemnly proclaimed list of names called by the Sorting Hat had decided their fate, the long list of the seventh years who had both conquered and learnt maturity on the battlefield was held proudly by the Deputy Headmistress. The settlement of the staff of the school hadn't yet been decided, but to the Board of Governors and to the Ministry, immediately reinstalled in their seats after the downfall of Voldemort's cohorts, it had seemed fair and appropriate that the teachers who had taught them until that moment should give to the students the honorary school-leaving certificate that was praise to both.

The young witches and wizards stood in front of the High Table, in the Great Hall, proud and moved. When the last speech had ended - remembering the dead and advising everyone to honour their sacrifice with an upstanding future career, whatever their prospects - there followed some minutes of respectful silence, and then the feast began. Everybody hugged, and kissed, and of course Harry Potter was at the centre of the little, happy crowd. Tables fulfilled themselves in deliciousnesses, and music started.

The feast wasn't a ball, it was more an excuse to really begin to enjoy the victory, but the sweet tune helped everyone to feel good, Hermione thought, because even if it had been beautiful to see all her old companions and teachers together, a feeling of ending was around, and the recent losses couldn't yet be forgotten. And when, after dinner, people began to chat, while some of them were almost dancing, moving around, it was also good to see that the professors were no longer distant, but surrounded by their old students, in a mixed, contented group.

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He had felt a renewed sting of exclusion, in the middle of all that celebration. Even now, now that people had learnt to respect him, there was no change in the distance that the majority of people kept from Severus Snape. And to know that their behaviour was prompted by different reasons than those of the past did nothing to improve his mood.

That's why, when Miss Granger approached him to bid her greetings, he couldn't resist resuming his acerbic tone: "Already tired of Gryffindors' pleasantries, Miss Granger?"

"A bit, to be sincere" she answered, surprisingly unaffected, "and since there aren't so many opportunities to speak to you, I'd like to take this one. If I may."

"If you must" he conceded, convincing himself that her annoying nosiness wouldn't be worse than that of the older witches, which he had learnt to endure more often than he was keen to admit.

"I'm proud to have received this parchment, with a certificate that will surely be precious in the future. But I don't know all the things that I wanted to know, especially about our world, and the way it goes on… I mean: when Voldemort recruited his followers he found very interested people among Pure-bloods, and this is the way it always happens, with the dark lords, they rise because the powerful oblige them… but nobody seems to understand how important it is to explore these matters…"

"And thus you thought to ask to the reformed Death Eater?" he cut in menacingly. Then, lowering his voice: "I'm not a Pure-blood; you should know that, shouldn't you, impertinent girl?"

She didn't give up: "What I know is that you were a young Slytherin, eager to be part of this world, and then in the space of a breath, you were among his followers. That's a good enough place to start, to me."

"And pray, tell, why would I be the recipient of your nosy idealism?"

"Because I would have been a friend to that young student, and you could have gone on wounding, arguing, calling names, but I wouldn't have minded," she answered defiantly.

This last bit hit very close to home, so he kept silent.

"I'm staying at Hogwarts for the next few days to do some research in the Library, Professor. If you'll want, we could resume this conversation then. I'm happy to have seen you so well recovered, and now I will leave you in peace, as you wish."

Smiling she turned on her heel, and the vision of her long blue dress, that accompanied her movements with grace, stayed in his eyes for a long time.

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With her head bent over the parchment which was outstretched on one of the large table in the Library, she didn't see that the elusive Professor Snape was standing not too far from her. Nor did she notice his leaving when, after some moments during which he had looked at her with a strange intensity, he did so. She was immersed in reading of the rules of law in the Magical World, and beginning to know what she really wished to do when she, as they say, would grow up.

After hours, tired and stiff, she went out from the room, and decided to give interviewing her professor one last try before she would leave the castle and begin to pursue her plan. After not too long a walk, she arrived at his door and knocked.

This time he answered: "Enter."

She found him seated at his desk, writing. He surely wasn't marking in July, was he? But she kept her curiosity for more important matters. And, when he lifted his gaze to her, she began to describe her wish to change the rules, to become a very influential member of their society to do so, to change things for the better.

He would have mocked her passion, as many had done during her most famous campaign in her fourth year, but the sound of her voice - which for some time he had, strangely, often recalled at unexpected moments - didn't allow him to do so. Then, when she opened the rolled-up parchment on his desk, showing him the archaisms of some laws, and going on telling him her opinion, and asking for his contribution, he was forced to look at it.

"My mother's family was of pure blood and she never overcame the rejection she suffered after her wedding with a Muggle…" he found himself saying, and from that moment he knew himself to be lost without even an attempt at a fight - lost to Hermione's project, and lost to Hermione herself.

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Thus they continued, and she was right, and he was glad to help, even when they heartily disagreed, because if he was proud to belong to their world and she was keen to be part of it, they still knew that a great part of its rules were wrong: he had lived on his skin how much.

Once a week she went to his quarters, and he began to await her visits with anticipation. Until, one day, looking together at an ancient tome, she touched his fingers, inadvertently, and he, unaware of his actions, held hers.

Their eyes, then, were locked in an unbreakable contact.

After a time that seemed infinite, she whispered:

"You remember"

and it wasn't a question.

"I do"

and it was more than an answer.

"Good" she whispered softly, and the fact that neither of them needed to clarify the object of their memory told, more than a thousand words, how much both had treasured the first moments of their true acquaintance.

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When she had ended her studies at the University, where she had decided to go to improve her knowledge, so as to be sure about her competence during the future steps of her plan, she visited Snape at Hogwarts more often: sometimes at his old house at Spinner's End, too, where he had begun to make many changes and improvements and where, as in the castle, he felt more and more that the burden of the memories linked to the site was lightening.

Slowly they began to recognize the end of friendship and the beginning of something different. As if fearing that to say the words that would seal that discovery could break the spell, both became strangely shy, then. But it couldn't last long: the closeness they had reached couldn't allow that, and Severus felt that, finally, the time had come to reap the reward of what had been given to him when the ultimate negation of his life had been delayed thanks to someone else's actions. It was time to try again, and to do it by himself, with the warming awareness that this time his attempts would be received in a totally different way.

She had come into his office, as usual, bringing in the refreshing cold air of December blended with her scent, that he would have recognized anywhere. And she had seemed determined to overcome the awkward silence of their recent meetings, so, without even bothering to take off her cloak, pacing through the room, she had started talking of the weather, of the forthcoming snow, and of her plans for the holidays, all mingled into a merry speech that, after a first moment of startled attention, Snape cut into:

"Come here!" pointing to the couch. She approached, hesitantly, and sat.

He had always been able to use his words, and his tone of voice, as an instrument or even as a weapon, when needed. And he had given many thoughts to the speech that he would have to make for this special occasion.

Her closeness, though, wiped everything away and he was only able to say the essence of it, those inevitable three words that people always say on occasions like that. They (more than enough, of course, to her) were tenderly welcomed. And, at least, he had managed to be faithful to his House's cunning with the choice of seating, whose cosiness eased all the following agreements, that they sealed one after the other by kissing each other senseless.

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Eventually they married, and at their wedding reception she was very pleased to know that the brainy, shy yet very beautiful girl who had been her roommate at University, and who had been so impressed by her friends' visits, was now engaged to Ron. Hermione, slinking away from the party, thought that finally he would be the decision-maker that he wished to be, and envisioned herself as the assiduous aunt to their future children, the son and the daughter which that happy couple was already fantasizing about.

In the following years, always accompanied by the helping advice of her husband, who had gone on researching improvements for potions and counter-curses, no longer bound by the obligations of a stable job but with all the freedom that he had finally won, she went on pursuing her task and finally she worked for Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where she succeeded in putting an end to the most unfair pro-pure-blood laws. As all the official sources reported and as everyone very well knows.

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…_109 years later_

"_I see that you are finally visible to me, Harry Potter" said the cold voice, welcoming the Old Boy Who Lived Twice, "and it was about time."_

_The next great adventure had begun for the old hero, and it had been high time, as the welcoming host had declared. He looked around, his glasses still firmly on his nose._

"_Yes, Harry Potter, they are approaching to bid you welcome" were Death's last words then, and suddenly Harry saw a little group of smiling people, that he very well knew and had longed to meet again._

_His parents and their two friends were, and would be for all eternity, as he had seen them a lifetime ago, when the end of his feat had been forthcoming. But now, the fact that a very young pink-haired witch was holding hands with one of those four he had already seen that unforgettable time, made their appearance an even clearer reminder of how early they had left._

_And there was his wife, grey-haired like him but still beautiful: he hadn't survived by more than a few hours the loss of her on earth._

_Two other smiling presences, then, came to join the rest._

"_I told you that his Cloak still had the power to preserve from the sight of Death" the first one was whispering._

"_It was a well-hidden secret, and, above all, Potter and I agreed that I would not investigate the circumstances of my rescue" answered the taller one, still wearing his customary black robes in a place where the white light seemed to brighten everything._

"_Come on Harry, let's go. The two of them never stop talking" intervened Ginny. But Harry wanted to seal the moment with a last proclamation._

"_When I told Dumbledore that I would keep Ignotus's present, I knew I had done the right thing. And Albus confirmed it. What he and everyone else didn't know was the fact that I had already used my Invisibility Cloak to hide Snape from Death, __until he could reach the hospital." All his life he had remembered, as if the rescue had happened yesterday, that time when he and Pomfrey had found Snape comatose in his death-throes, held there and kept from crossing over by the influence of the spirits who stood with him now__. _

"_And no one ever knew of it" ended Hermione, without leaving her companion's arm._

"_As it had to be," Snape concluded, remembering, while saying these words, the fact that the written version of the story hadn't been so merciful to him as the actual events had been. "Because that was the real closure, but it seems that it was too hard for the one who reported the story to pursue the possibility of a further opening being left to me."_

"_Luckily, it wasn't too hard for those who were in your debt, and, later, for those who cared," whispered Hermione, tightening her clasp, with fondness._

_So, this was the way Harry Potter mastered the gifts of Death for a good purpose. And all was well._

A /N: And this is all. Even knowing that it is only a whim, I've enjoyed exploring some possible openings for missing moments, or spotting half-spoken areas of canon, where what is known allows for some different outcome, by pursuing those aspects of the story which have not been completely revealed. It has been done many times, since last July, and in many ways, but every time to reach the possibility of saving Snape, of giving him a second - and lighter - life, is a joy greater than the simple act of thinking and writing a fan fiction. This time was less easy than before, to me, and therefore more precious; as I said at the end of the first chapter I hope that to all of you, too, his rescue made sense and that you liked it. Thanks to those who have gone on reading this tale. And, now that it is completed, more than ever reviews are most welcome!


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